


reap what you sow

by lilibug



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Basically, F/M, Massage, Mild Blood, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Sex, a supernatural au, fae!Sweet Pea, hot dog is a wolf, in this they do, not enough of anything else to really need a specific tag so, sex and magic go together right?, some gratuitous sexploration, some very very mild predator/prey undertones?, witch!jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-01-16 11:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18520819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibug/pseuds/lilibug
Summary: “Having your soul stolen — ripped from your body, will do that. For me…” she grew quiet, breath barely whispering up to him. “It's a gnawing emptiness, like a black hole siphoning a star's outer layers. The longer I live, my consciousness deteriorates.”“That — fuck, that sounds horrible.” The weight on his shoulders felt pressing, immobilizing.“It is.” Betty paused, gazing up at him shyly in contrast to her boldness from earlier. “That's why I need your help.”ORJughead is a witch and he's just trying to do the right thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooo. This is part one of two! A blend of fantastical and practical magic. 
> 
> My entry for @riverdale-events spring fever event. 
> 
> I'd like to thank both [@bugggghead](https://bugggghead.tumblr.com) and [@theheavycrown](https://theheavycrown.tumblr.com) for their beta assistance, and for [@pennyroads](https://pennyroads.tumblr.com) who made me this gloriously beautiful aesthetic.

 

 

Every forest was covered by a blanket of silence during the witching hour.

 

The natural hum and croak of wildlife stilled, as if waiting, knowing something was to come. The wind was a gentle caress as the light from the moon, at its brightest before the dawn, bathed the treetops in its glow. Fog misted along the ground, a symbol of the veil that had lifted between the living and the dead.

 

A time when the inhuman were at their most powerful.

 

The day was special. A sabbat on the Wheel of the Year, the Spring Equinox.

 

Jughead hardly needed a calendar to determine it.

 

It was ingrained in his very being. The shift in the air as the first breeze of spring rustled through the trees was palpable, tangible, as though if he reached out, it would slip between his fingers. A change in pressure, smell, taste — new, yet familiar energy that worked the beginnings of lush green from the dormant earth.

 

The snow had long melted, the soil growing springy and soft with moss. The once brown grass turned green and leaves sprouted from the trees, reinvigorated by the chlorophyll flooding their veins.

 

Any forest witch’s intuition knew that it was time to pay Mother a visit.

 

In the middle of the garden, an old stump served as Jughead’s outdoor altar. Mushrooms and spindly vines crawled up the sides, the surface rather smooth but with uneven edges from a long lost trunk that had snapped. Many seasons had passed since the tree had fallen, but life still blustered in its roots, radiating to the plants around it. Unlike the rest of the forest, the flora around his home never faded with the winter.

 

From the beds that circled his cottage, he'd uprooted a few propagated hyacinth bulbs that had begun to break through the earth. Planting them in a small clay pot, he covered them with fresh soil, their green shoots reaching blearily for the sun.  

 

The equinox was a time to reflect upon one's journey through life thus far and the duality of man and the energies of the world being in perfect balance with each other. A time to show appreciation for Mother and the gift of her power she had bestowed upon them. Spring was for planting intentions and wishes, establishing oneself for the year to come.

 

So, knee deep and as skyclad as the day he was born, Jughead knelt in the garden before the light of the moon.

 

The potted bulb sat to his right, just within reach, as he arranged the altar with a cauldron filled with fresh water collected from the cascade in the river, censer, and various materials for the ritual. He scattered handfuls of freshly picked blooms around himself and over the stump, before dropping the petals across the surface of the water, swirling them with a dip of his hand.

 

Tugging the cork from a glass bottle with his teeth, he sprinkled a bit of the mixture he'd ground up over the charcoal briquette in the censer. It smelled like all the best parts of spring — frankincense, orange, violet, rose. An alluring fresh aroma that had one longing for bright sun and cloudless days.

 

With the strike of a match against its box, flame crackled alight and he breathed deep, touching it to the black candle, then white. He dropped the match into the censer and the briquette caught fire, immediately the scent of incense wafted to his nose. The smell of fire was always so sweet, comforting in the way it drew and multiplied the energy surrounding it.

 

Jughead cast his circle after a few moments of meditation, turning his head to the ground and the sky as he said his thanks.

 

Rubbing his palms together, he cleared his throat to begin.

  
  
"O Mother, you have freed yourself from the icy prison of winter. Now is the greening, when the fragrance of flowers drifts on the breeze. This is the beginning. Life renews itself by your magic. The sun stretches and rises, eager in its youth, and bursting with the promise of summer."

 

Cradling the pot within his arms, one hand buried into the soil to curl around the bulb as he closed his eyes. The energy that it produced held a gentle warmth and he followed it, connecting with his own. He imagined traveling inside its leaves and roots, his consciousness exploring the miraculous process of life within the plant.  

 

Jughead rubbed the stalk of stem, spreading dark earth along its vibrant green and relishing the hum that seemed to vibrate along his skin. A smile broke out across his upturned face, the warmth rising to envelop his body and intertwine with his own energy.

  
Focusing on his intentions, he spoke softly, as if to the plant itself. "I walk the earth in friendship, not in dominance. Instill within me through this plant a warmth for all living things. Teach me to revere the Earth and all its treasures. May I never forget."

 

Setting the pot unto the altar, he dipped his hands in the cauldron to pool water between his palms. Bringing them up, he splashed water against his face, wiping his hands along his cheeks before slicking back his hair. Then, he brought his hands together to cup the water to his lips, drinking from the cradle of his palms.

 

With wet hands, he dug into the soil, the earth tapped into his energy, crawling up his arms in the form of thin green vines, delicate and new. He hummed at the rush of feeling, a rumble in his chest vibrating through the air, as he watched white-petaled, baby-new flowers unfurling along the length of his arms. Raising his cupped hands, he gazed at the dirt and water swirling together, greens reaching greedily into his palms to lick at every last drop.

 

Smile tugging on his lips, he brushed a thumb along the yellow, springy center where a daisy winked up at him. Then, sprinkled a bit more of the ground incense into the censer, dropping his head to rest his cheek along the curve of the stump and closing his eyes once more.

 

“I welcome your guidance and open my heart to your will.”

 

The words left his lips, heart thumping as an empty pang curled in his gut. His loneliness was always an unspoken thing, as he never wished for more than he thought he was worth, but this year he couldn't help but hope she could feel his ache.

 

He sighed quietly, letting the energy ebb and flow around him as he banished the thought for another day. Then, all at once, the moment snapped, his connection renewed, as the sounds of the forest peppered back to life and the hour ticked into the next.

 

*

 

He'd fallen asleep after the ritual, collapsing into bed under the weight of the world as it blossomed to life.

 

Visions of wildlife, both plant and animal, visited his dreams in spades. A sense of belonging and peace made for a restful slumber as the day began anew, the cycle starting with a fair temperature and a whisper in the wind.

 

Some hours later, the sun woke him. Shining brightly through the window adjacent to the bed, the rays blinked through the gap in the dark curtains and roused him with warmth and light.

 

Blinking up at the slat wood of the ceiling, Jughead lay there for moment more in lazy content.

 

Near silent padding against the wood flooring caught his attention and the sight of his dragon wolf had his palm turning up to dangle off the edge of the bed.

 

“Hey, boy.”

 

It nudged its chin against his hand, head tilting this way and that until Jughead gave in and patted the thick grey and white fur of its head. He ruffled the wolf's coat, scratching behind his ears and dragging his fingers along the back of his neck.

 

Hot Dog’s tail thumped against the floor where he sat, eyes of faded sea-glass lulling into bliss as the energy from their bond passed back and forth.

 

Rising from the bed, Jughead stretched his arms above his head while tipping up onto the balls of his feet. He arched his back before dropping back down into a slump, feeling like a satisfied cat. He flicked his wrist toward the kitchen where the kettle sat atop the butcher block, and it began to heat under the command of his intention.

 

He dressed in a loose, faded grey shirt and frayed-hem jeans, forgoing shoes as he picked up the little watering can on the kitchen windowsill to fill from the sink. The well water spluttered from the tap, and he used it to give each of the potted plants, that seemed to cover every inch of space in his cottage, a drink for the day.

 

Continuing his morning ritual, he prepared a cup of tea, scooping loose leaves into a diffuser and steeping it in the hot water. Grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter, he joined his wolf on the lumpy sofa. They sat in a comfortable silence, his feet kicked up onto the wolf's back as he bit into the fruit with a satisfying crunch.

 

Hot Dog happily devoured the core in a single bite when Jughead held it out for him a few moments later.

 

Most of their days started just like this one, a pause for morning relaxation before tending to the garden and harvesting fruits and vegetables to keep and to sell. Hot Dog was a helpful and loyal companion, assisting with the basket by dragging it along with his teeth or hunting in the forest.

 

The spells that Jughead cast over the garden had it flourishing at an accelerated rate.

 

In the afternoon, he would spend time picking herbs, harvesting various ingredients, or brewing potions and oils to sell at the market in town. He would usually venture out to buy his dinner or eat at one of the restaurants that dotted the old-timey cobblestone streets between the rust-brick buildings. Occasionally, the fae that had taken residence (in exchange for services, of course) in his birdhouse would chatter aimlessly as Jughead did any or all of his daily tasks.

 

Each day passed with little variation from the one before, stuck in a repetitive loop that felt stilted.

 

He leaned his head back against the couch, a sigh dropping from his lips. He couldn't help but long for someone, _anyone_ that might understand how he itched for something more. It felt like static electricity sat dormant in his veins. His fingertips often crackled with the energy, letting loose without warning as it reached for some sort of escape. It had become so severe that Hot Dog would lick Jughead's hands in worry, attempting to ease the pain.

 

There had been many times he thought about leaving, going somewhere so different that there wasn’t a familiar sight to be found. It made his stomach ache with longing. But it was like he was rooted to the spot, this house, this town, either by guilt or Mother, he wasn't sure which.

 

Lost in the depth of his thought, he missed the shift in the air.

 

The wind chimes on his porch tinkled in the sudden breeze, the hair on his arms and neck standing at attention. Hot Dog raised his head accordingly, looking between the door and Jughead with a question in his eyes, seeming to frown.  

 

Standing, they moved off the couch and he walked to the door to lay his palm against the wood. A gentle hum echoed through the air, vibrations singing a melody of sorts.

 

He blinked.

 

“Stay here,” he instructed, hand falling to Hot Dog's head in a pat, only to be met with a whine that bordered on a growl. He gripped the fur at the beast’s neck, ruffling him affectionately. “Gotta protect Sweet Pea, buddy.”

 

Hot Dog gave a little yelp in agreement, before shuffling behind Jughead as he opened the door.

 

Stepping out onto the porch, he crossed the wood planks and stepped down onto the earth, grass and moss cool and moist between his toes as he walked toward the east wood. With a glance over his shoulder, he confirmed his familiar was sitting guard in the doorway, his imposing frame and aura adding strength to the wards circling the area.

 

He had no weapons, only the magic that flowed through his veins.

 

He hoped it would be enough, if need be.

 

As he weaved through the trees, stepping carefully among the blades of grass that still crunched under his feet, he followed the echo in the air. The breeze was filled with the sensation of a foreign presence in the realm of the forest, something that didn't belong.

 

He realized he was following the path of the river, winding deep into the woods. The sound had become clearer, more pronounced, and he recognized it was a song. A melodic and lilting voice seemed to rustle the barely there leaves in the trees and swirl the brush around his ankles.

 

_Faith she has, with every flight_

_Joy was hers, from second-birth,_

_But she draws near, discarding fear..._

 

It was drawing him in, dissipating the prickling sensation at the back of his scalp, and lulling him into something he could only describe as calm, as he walked into the clearing.

 

The sight was familiar, the river branching into a wide mouth, nestled into a rock wall with a cascade of fresh water that flowed from the upper forest, where it shifted vertically at a steep slope. The water ran clear and clean, like crystal glimmering under the sun.

 

_She whispers wisdom through the breeze_

_She alights, the music rests._

_And with lyrics only she can hear,_

_She professes her request..._

 

Despite the song, despite the fact that _someone_ must have been singing it, he was not expecting the woman leaning against a rock near the shallow edge, the ends of her long blonde hair barely covering her bare breasts.

 

Startled, Jughead tripped over a vine as he stepped backward, intent on disappearing back into the cover of trees and, preferably, heading on his merry way back to the cottage. His heel crunched hard on something dry and ostentatiously loud as he stumbled for his footing.

 

The singing abruptly stopped. The sound of water splashed as the woman twisted to dive under the surface.

 

Dammit. _He_ hadn't meant to scare _her_.

 

“—sorry,” he croaked, throwing his hands up, palms upward as he waved them in a harmless gesture, whether she could see it or not. Clearing his throat, he straightened up and turned around so that he faced the trees. “I'm leaving — didn't mean to intrude.”

 

He had to snap his jaw shut, lest his mouth run him into larger problems.

 

For someone that enjoyed silence and solitude, preferring the company of his familiar to people, he felt compelled to talk to this stranger. And appease his inexplicable need to explain that he wasn't just a peeping tom.

 

Nothing but silence rang back in response and he stepped forward, hands falling back to his sides.

 

“Wait.”

 

He obeyed, surprised by the sound.

 

When she spoke, her voice was just as melodic as her singing, and he was almost ashamed to say he wanted to hear more of both.

 

“How did you find me?”

 

Jughead blinked, staring down at wisps of green peeking up in front of his feet. He shook his head, wiping his palms on the front of his pants. “I followed your voice.”

 

She was quiet then, for what felt like the longest minute of his life.

 

“...are you a man?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper, almost as if she were scared.

 

His eyebrows raised, his wit following slower until he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I am.”

 

“Turn back around.”

 

Jughead's heart thumped loudly in his chest, turning quarter-face he drug his gaze up from the ground to find the top half of the woman's face peeking over the edge of the drop-off.

 

Her fingers curled over the side, head tilted curiously as eyes the same shade of his favorite lily plant peered up at him.

 

She was haunting. Eyelashes wet and sticking to her cheeks — pale and freckled with drops of water. Hair dark at the root, slicked back from her forehead. Nails shimmering unnaturally, like opals in the sunlight. Webbing between her fingers, so thin he could see right through it.

 

This was the first time he had laid eyes on her, yet she looked achingly familiar.

 

He swallowed, eyes trailing along the slope of her shoulders and neck as she rose up further to hook her elbows on the ground. Her lips were parted, slightly blue, the same shade as the scales that danced up the sides of her arms.

 

“You look strange.”

 

An odd thing for someone like her to say, to him of all people.

 

“I could say the same about you.”

 

Her lips pulled into a sly smile, her stare making him flush beneath his collar, fingers twitching at his sides in trepidation. She licked a drop of water from her lip, the action feeling impossibly slow.

 

“Have you ever seen someone like me?”

 

In truth, no, but — “And what _are_ you, exactly?”

 

She pushed away from the side of the river wall, floating backward and gliding her arms through the water effortlessly. It splashed as a fin flickered up through the surface, blue so light it looked silver, shimmering up at him in a wave as she turned in the water to present her fin to him.

 

Jughead sucked in a breath as she disappeared, entranced by the way she moved and the pull to be nearer the farther she swam away. He'd walked nearly to the edge without realizing.

 

She broke the surface near him with a flip of her hair, flinging water all around and dotting his shirt. “Any guesses?” she asked, brushing wet strands of hair over her shoulder coquettishly.

 

He resisted the urge for his gaze to drop further, licking his lip. “Mermaid seems too obvious.”

 

“Oh, all the boys always think that. You'd think it the only sea creature that existed.” She scoffed at that, flicking her fingers at the water before turning to look up at him with an affecting smile that made him want to jump in and join her. “But you're not a boy.”

 

He folded his arms across his chest as he looked away from the intensity of her searing gaze. “A siren?” he asked, after a moment of hesitation, fearing the affirmation. Tales told wide and far had not only sailors and fishermen wary of the enchanting power of their ire.

 

The song the woman had been singing—

 

“Close.” He breathed a sigh, glancing back up. “—a cousin, if you will. An Undine.”

 

Admittedly, he was unfamiliar with such a creature, but the weight of his relief left him curious. The history of supernatural species in his grimoire was rather lacking, thanks to his birth mother's misgivings. A terrible witch, Gladys Jones — he surmised to be the opposite.

 

“An Undine.” He tested the word on his tongue, watching as her eyes lit up to match the smile stretching her cheeks. “Do you have a name?”

 

She nodded once. “Elisávet — but I prefer to go by Betty.”

 

“Jughead.”

 

“Jug—head,” she hummed, each syllable dropping from her lips in a way that had a flicker of heat slithering down his spine rather dangerously. “Do you wish to bed me?”

 

Eyebrows rising into his hairline, he took a half step back and away, the short distance between them suddenly imposing.

 

“Uh, no—” it was alarming how her crestfallen expression had him backpedaling from _that_. “I just, I mean — it's not that you're not attractive, because you are, but I just don't get why you're asking me.”

 

“I need to lay with a man,” she said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

 

It only had him sputtering, “But why would you ask _me_?”

 

“You're not the only man I've come across in my travels. But your aura smells like spice — warm — and the ocean is so very cold.”

 

The questions he wanted to ask just kept amassing. However, he only managed to gesture to the water. “This isn't the ocean.”

 

“I'm aware of that.” Her eyes rolled up to the sky, and her hand flicked at the water, spraying him with a shower of droplets. “I swam up the river on purpose. Didn't realize it was going to dead-end here.”

 

Jughead wondered, when that spike of foreign energy prickled his neck, whether it was merely her presence or the invasion of her voice in the otherwise quiet of the forest. The energy that she exuded was vastly different from the plant life, radiating in cool, gentle waves. It brushed his own, as if she was reaching out purposefully to test the boundary between them.

 

“So, now what?”

 

Her shoulders bobbed as she sunk down in the water. “Well, I hadn't counted on finding a man in the middle of the forest. Makes things easier.”

 

The nervous twisting in his gut, the heat spreading under his skin, the tension that rolled between his shoulders — he wondered if she'd put him under a spell, her eyes garnering his attention so wholly.

 

“Makes what easier?” he asked, despite knowing the answer.

 

Betty smirked, finger crooking up at him. “Come here.”

 

“In — in the water?”

 

“Are you afraid of getting wet?”

 

“No. It's just — you — you uh, have a… tail?” he finished lamely, cheeks burning as he looked away.

 

Was he panicking? No. Nope. Certainly not.

 

“What an astute observation,” she laughed. “I just have to dry off a little bit. Splits right into a pair of legs. Pretty ones I've been told.”

 

His hand wandered up to thread through his hair, tugging on the ends. He could fairly well imagine what her legs might look like, among other things. He swallowed, shifting his weight around.

 

“But you said _in_ the water,” he pointed out, like the little shit he was.

 

“I can literally smell your apprehension, Jug—head.” There was a predatory look in her eyes, somehow soft and alluring all at the same time. “I'll give you some time to think about it. But give me _something_ , please.”

 

The whine she emitted shot straight to his dick, and he tossed his head back to glare up at the sky blinking down at him. The way she bit her lip seared into his brain, and it would surely be the focus of his thoughts at night forevermore.

 

He heaved a breath, sigh falling from his lips as he dropped his hand back down. “Why do you _need_ to lay with a man?”

 

She was silent for a moment — then, “If I want to gain a soul, then I must have sex.”

 

“A soul?” He frowned, stepping up to the ledge of the step-off. She didn't look a soulless creature, all bright-eyed and full of mirth and life.

 

Her hand shot out and he tensed as she curled her fingers around his ankle. Through the fabric of his jeans her skin was lukewarm, a startling middle point between the variances of cold and hot he expected. Her grip was firm, halting further movement.

 

She had to crane her neck to look up at this angle, hugging the wall of the river. Her mouth turned down into a frown, one that echoed familiar in his veins.

 

“Betty…”

 

Her head shook imperceptibly, her lower lip trembling. He wanted to swipe his thumb across it, steady it under his touch.

 

“It's what makes us different from the others. A soul.” Her eyes darted down to the water, as if ashamed. “A mermaid becomes a siren when their soul is stolen, which happens more often than you would think. An undine is born without one entirely.”

 

“I would have never been able to tell, had you not said anything.”

 

Her smile up at him was lackluster, fingers squeezing gently around his ankle. “You mean I don't appear like I'm dripping in sin and bloodlust?”

 

He was having rather sinful thoughts _about_ her.

 

“Well, no.”

 

“Having your soul stolen — ripped from your body, will do that. For me…” she grew quiet, breath barely whispering up to him. “It's a gnawing emptiness, like a black hole siphoning a star's outer layers. The longer I live, my consciousness deteriorates.”

 

“That — fuck, that sounds horrible.” The weight on his shoulders felt pressing, immobilizing.

 

“It is.” Betty paused, gazing up at him shyly in contrast to her boldness from earlier. “That's why I need your help.”

 

There was hope in her voice, but his thoughts were still spiraling.

 

It was a product of convenience, that he was the one to happen upon her. Right time, right place. But his crippling self-doubt left him wondering if he should tell her to find someone else, someone _better_. There was a multitude of reasons on the tip of his tongue.

 

“I want _you_ , Jughead. Your soul is shouting my name so loudly, I can practically hear the buzz in your brain.”

 

He was panicking now, surely she didn't mean—

 

“I'm not going to steal your soul — or kill you.”

 

The breath he was holding left him in a rush.

 

“I just want to eat you.”

 

“ _What_?” he asked incredulously.

 

Betty's eyebrows knitted together, and she pouted up at him, lower lip deliciously plump. “Isn't that the saying? Maybe I heard it wrong. I want to… suck your dick. Will that calm you down?”

 

Calm him down? _Calm him down?_ Yeah, fat fucking chance of that with her biting her lip and staring up at him just casually asking to _suck his dick_.

 

It took him a moment to find his voice, having to clear his throat. “What do I get out of… all of this?”

 

There was a whisper in the wind that vaguely felt like someone was saying _shut up_ to him, but he ignored it.

 

“I think it's fairly obvious,” she tugged, pulling him forward, “—you get me. Now sit.”

 

“So you're just going to blow me and then… what?”

 

Her head tossed back in a laugh, drawing his attention to the elegant line of her throat where a set of gills embedded in her neck, flexing with the air she breathed.  

 

“Then we'll figure it out later. I'm comfortable here in the fresh water for a couple more days if you have to ruminate.”

 

Each day was another that she lived knowing it brought her closer to… to something akin to death itself. He didn't want that for her.

 

Perhaps this was Mother's will, after all.

 

Jughead lowered himself down without further question nor thought, sitting gingerly at the edge of the ground as she pulled at him to stretch his legs out. The water was still frigid, even under the spring sun and it had him wincing, gripping handfuls of grass as she nestled into the space between his legs. The coldness seeped into his pants, soaking his skin but ineffectively dousing the heat that her hands seemed to procure as they slid from his knees upwards.

 

Suddenly, he was blurting out — “I'm a witch,” as if she would be repulsed.

 

“A witch?” She tilted her head to the side, fingers toying further up his thighs and right over the crotch of his pants, featherlight over his half-hard cock. “I always thought they were supposed to be old and wrinkly.”

 

“Well, I am actually older than I lo—ok.” His voice cracked at the end, her fingers catching the fly of the zipper and pulling it down so slowly that he swore he felt every chink of the metal unclasping.

 

“That was easier than I thought it was going to be. Those little metal teeth look scary,” Betty murmured, running the tip of her finger along the edge before she was grasping the button at his waist and popping it open. “Don't make me wear these when I get my legs.” Her face contorted as if the thought abhorrent.

 

“What, uh, what _are_ you going to wear?” he asked before all rational thought left his brain as her hand dove underneath the band of his boxers. Her fingers brushed against him, his hips jerking in response as he twitched upward.

 

Her thumbs caught in the waist of his pants, tugging them down, and she shrugged a shoulder as he braced himself to lift his hips.

 

“I like dresses. Do you have those?” she asked, patting his thighs daintily once they were exposed.

 

“Not exactly.” His chuckle was breathy, practically choking on the air as she walked her fingers along his cock, stomach tensing as her eyes seemed to catalog every part of him. “But I could buy you some,” he offered, leaning back onto his palms.

 

She scratched lightly through the dark hairs traveling up to his navel, her hand disappearing under his shirt to splay against his abdomen. “Then I'd owe you even more,” she said idly, as if the thought worried her.

 

“I'm sure you could make it up to me.”

 

There was something about that wording that felt inherently perverse on his tongue, but he hadn't the notion to care about the implications at present. Not with Betty's hand wrapped around the length of his cock. Lukewarm fingers gripping firm but not tight, setting his blood to boil as it all but rushed to his groin under her attention.

 

“I never imagined it would be this combination of… soft and hard.” She sounded curious, her face peering so close he could feel her breath blowing across him.

 

A shudder rolled down his spine, eyes falling half-shut as her hand palmed the length of his cock, thumb swiping along the head. He already felt the compulsory urge to buck up into her first and knew that this wasn't going to be a long affair.

 

“You're still wearing too many clothes. Don't you want to take them off?” Her head tilted curiously, palm testing the weight of his cock as she explored in a delicate dance of her fingers.

 

There was still a chill in the air, no matter how warm he felt under her touch. He shook his head half-heartedly. “S'okay.”

 

He hadn't been expecting her to pout, grip tightening around him enough to have his back arching. Blinking down at her, he watched her brush the hair from her shoulders to fall down her back in the water.

 

“Do you want to see me?”

 

Betty was, simply put, breathtaking.

 

There were a lot of factors influencing the current situation, including the way her thumb was rubbing up the underside of his cock, but the way she braced herself with a hand next to his thigh to raise up out of the water was a sight.

 

She hadn't waited on his response.

 

Her skin was smooth alabaster, the same blue tinge of her lips pebbled her nipples. Droplets of water rolled down her skin, falling over his thighs as she pushed her chest forward. The sharp slope of her shoulders, the hint of her waist distorting down to shimmering silver-blue.

 

Jughead wanted to touch her, all of her.

 

His hands curled into the grass, fistfuls to anchor himself between where her elbows planted on either side of him. He would be her willing prisoner.

 

Though, the way her tongue just licked at the head of his cock was making things a little fuzzy.

 

“Mother of Merlin,” he choked, when she wrapped her lips around him to suckle.

 

It was strange, the way she was so cold and warm all at once. The heat of her mouth inviting his hips to buck up, her fingertips tapping lightly against his thighs and the drag of her lips with every bob of her head.

 

It wasn't like he had _never_ had a blowjob before, but it wasn't quite the same as this.

 

Laid out in the forest, energy swirling in the air and ground that made him feel deeper, more intensely. The foreign sensation of _her_ , of Betty, that had fire seeming to bloom and spread in his veins.

 

“Am I doing okay?”

 

Her voice sounded tiny, unlike the forward brashness of before.

 

Jughead turned his face down from the sky, where he'd thrown his head back, and had to blink through the haze just a little.

 

She was still close to him, looking up at him with a swollen bottom lip pulled between her teeth, strands of hair sticking to her neck and cheeks as it began to dry. Her hand still curled around him, tracing lightly up and down.

 

“Kind of hard to mess up,” he babbled, but the look on her face at that had him scrambling to add, “You're doing great — maybe… maybe just a little bit faster? Use your mouth and your hand—” she took to his instructions like a moth to a flame, “—oh fuck, _yes_ , just like that.”

 

Her mouth was tight, cheeks hollowed in as she sucked, looking up through her lashes with mirth and a hint of a smile.

 

He was getting tense all over, core tight and burning hotly. Hips rocking into Betty's mouth and hand, the way her tongue worked him over had his jaw clenching. Teeth biting back a moan of her name, hands desperate to thread through her hair but pulling at the grass and digging into the ground instead.

 

It was blissful, the way the warmth felt all around him.

 

She was letting him rut up into her mouth, the look in her eye encouraging him as she moved over him, bringing her mouth down over him again and again until he realized that she didn't even need to stop for a _breath._

 

“Holy shit,” he groaned, unabashed.

 

Her gills flexed at the side of her neck, and he would wonder at mechanics of air versus water when her tongue wasn't swirling all around his dick like she was trying to swallow him whole.

 

Betty bobbed her head in time with the strokes of her hand. It was a little sloppy, a touch too much, _too hard_ , but it was what he asked for and it had him squirming and fighting the tension that was ready to crest.

 

He was panting, and she was staring up at him the whole time with wide eyes that seemed to grow darker, more glassy, with each sound that he made. She was picture perfect, the epitome of any fantasy he'd ever dreamt and he worried, slightly, that nothing would compare to this, to _her._

 

It was sinful, the way he was crumbling so easily. Perhaps he had simply gone too long without the touch of another, everything heightened by the simple sensitivity of his skin.

 

“Betty — fuck — I'm… ah,” he could barely get the words out, thoughts scattering and resolve shattering as he brought one hand up to sink into her hair and bring her closer, “—gonna come.”

 

She made a sound, a rumble in her throat that echoed a pleased hum all around him. It sent his hips bucking up into her mouth, her movements with renewed vigor as she clawed her nails against his hip to crawl closer under the command of his hand.

 

Her eagerness, the bliss in her eyes — it was enough, more than, to tip the scale and have his pleasure bursting forth and spreading under his skin, in his veins. It was like lightning, zipping up his spine and turning his thoughts hazy and blank.

 

Hand tangling in the wet strands of her hair, Jughead yanked her up off of him.

 

She arched back, gasp pulling from her throat, hand still wrapped around his cock as she watched the way his eyes rolled back with rapt attention.

 

He stilled, muscles tight with a tension that melted with each spasm, each gasp of breath. The droplets of his come spilling over Betty's hand, even dotting the close proximity of her chest. The sight of her, covered in him, had a shudder running down his spine, cock twitching one last time in her grasp.

 

They stared at each other, while he caught his breath. Her hand uncurling from around him as he turned soft, bringing it closer to her face for inspection.

 

He almost choked when she licked at the back of her fingers, lapping at his come before her nose scrunched up.

 

“Tastes like the ocean.”

 

He snorted, hand leaving her hair only to tuck it behind her ear, the brush of his fingers dangerously close to the gills high on her neck. She tilted her head, only slightly, leaning into the touch as he lingered.

 

“Don't you, you know, live in the ocean?”

 

She giggled at that, dipping her hand into the water to rid the mess, and then brought it up to her chest. “Didn't say I loved it.”

 

Jughead watched her breasts, the movement as she rubbed at her breastbone to wash away the rest of his come where it splashed her skin. He licked his lip, before bringing his gaze back to her face where her eyebrow was raised along with the corner of her mouth.

 

His cheeks felt hot under her gaze, but the encouraging look in her eye had him emboldened. He pushed gently at her shoulder, “Back up.”

 

She obliged, slipping back down into the water until it reached her shoulders.

 

Tucking himself back into his boxers, he scooted forward, shimmying his pants up before dropping down into the water. He slid into the space she left, cold swallowing him up and leaving him breathless as they came face to face.

 

Her breath touched his face, warming his cheek as she breathed out a quiet, “Hi.”

 

Toes brushing the slope of the angled riverbed, he dug his heels in against the mud and grit of the rock. Betty's arms slipped around him as she pressed closer, the curl of her forearms against his back and her chest dragging against him. He felt it all, through the fabric of his shirt made thin by the water. The barely there warmth of her blood soaking into him and calming the chill.

 

“Hi,” he breathed back, her face impossibly close to his.

 

It afforded him the luxury of memorizing each slope and angle, each pinpoint freckle that smattered across her face — he imagined her turning her head up to the sun, basking in the warmth and glow. Her eyes, flecked with a deep ocean blue. The bluish hue to the apple of her cheeks, his thumb brushing over the curve and her sigh so delicate to his ears.

 

“Kiss me,” Betty pleaded, and he could have sworn he felt the pound of her heart against his own.

 

Jughead closed the distance, thumb tipping her jaw up as their lips met.

 

It was a deafening silence, the world quieting beyond the sound of their breaths mixing together, of her pleased hum. Their lips moved slowly, but with purpose, together.

 

He pulled away, watching her eyes flutter open and he ached at what he found there.

 

Like a drug, one taste of her was all it took. He would crave her until she was his, until he had her again.

 

And he would.

 

He would give her what she wanted.

 

 

_tbc....._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, I'm still here. to make up for my utter failures, here is decently long, smutty second half to this fic. 
> 
> thanks to [@arsenicpanda](https://arsenicpanda.tumblr.com) for being a generally amazing human and wonderful beta.
> 
> also, heads up to a pov change to Betty!

If she could describe the world in a single word, it would be ambivalent. 

 

There were parts and pieces interconnecting, interweaving, left and right. Worlds within worlds that sometimes never touched, only lived alongside each other in a quiet parallel. Many Betty had yet to discover, and those she _had_ — well, she was still deciding just exactly how she felt about it all. 

 

All the while ignoring the all-consuming, gnawing sensation that was the black hole where her soul should be. 

 

Tethys (her mother) had bore her to a demon, and she would never forgive her. 

 

There was a pro and con to everything, as she had figured out. But she was determined to gain her soul, at the cost of immortality. She did not want to end up like her cousins — the sirens, a deplorable lot driven far beyond the brink of madness, for an eternity no less.  

 

She wasn't a killer; at least, she didn't think so. 

 

In truth, she'd been planning this _lay with a man_ thing for a while, but had yet to work up the courage. The world beyond that of the comfort of the coral reefs and estuaries she frequented could be frightening, and very loud. She had been working up to it all bit by bit, observing human culture and, by default, a little of the other species that seemingly walked alongside them. 

 

And now, she'd found one. A good one. 

 

Jughead, he was called. It sounded right on her tongue, tasted sweet. He wasn't anything like she'd encountered before, so _pretty,_ but he was able to hear her song and that was most of what mattered to her. The rest involved his cock. 

 

She still wanted to giggle at the word, but bit her tongue, especially when she thought of what he _tasted_ like. 

 

It was fun, and she definitely wanted to do it again. Do _more_. 

 

Her lower belly ached at the thought, and she slid her hand down to where her skin fleshed into scales, petting down the front of her tail. Legs were very different, especially the place between them. Humans were deeply sexual compared to what she was used to, where sex was only a means for procreation — and let's not get into the mechanics of _that_. She had a low threshold for talk of penile sheaths and eggs. 

 

Shifting onto her back, arms stretched out in the water, she floated along with the current. The sun overhead was peeking out behind fluffy white clouds, and she could feel it on her skin, warmth rising in her blood. Fingers gliding through the water, she propelled herself along, watching the sky and foliage pass around her. 

 

The forest had delightful sounds, widely different than the echoes that lilted through the water in the Atlantic. She seemed to see new animals and creatures every day, wanted to run her fingers through the hair on their backs, to feel their softness. 

 

She wasn't sure why she hadn't pulled herself up to ground or even onto a high rock in order to dry. Well, she knew. It was the possibility of Jughead's refusal to help, of his rejection, that kept her safely in the water. 

 

He had not come back yet. Granted, only one night had passed since he kissed her, held her in his arms, and felt the beat of his heart beneath her cheek. His blood was so warm, sweet smelling. She shivered at the thought. 

 

Though she said she would stay in the area for only a little while, there was a part of her that would wait forever.

 

His aura, his soul — she craved its presence. There was an attraction she felt beyond his appearance, a sense of comfort that eased the never-ending anguish that nagged so thoroughly. It was always out of reach, within the recess of her mind. She couldn't go long without it feeling like something thick and dark was bubbling up in her throat, threatening to spill over and drown her. 

 

She hadn't thought of it once when she was with him. Even when she explained what it felt like, the words tasting foreign on her tongue, it wasn't as bad, wasn't nearly like how she felt now. 

 

Plunging her head underwater, she flipped onto her belly and thrust her arms out before her to wave through the water. The freshness flooded her, and she found herself missing the sting of salt less and less. 

 

Reaching the rock wall where the waterfall cascaded down, she dipped her hands into the bubbles the force of it made. Bringing the bubbles up, she pushed them against her face, a rush of oxygen flooding her gills. It eased the strange feeling that had overcome her, thinking of Jughead. 

 

She couldn't wait any longer. 

 

Suddenly, Betty was at the edge of the riverbed, fingernails digging into dirt and grass as she hefted herself up. Elbows planted in, she wiggled forward, dragging until the widest part of her tail was finally ashore and she could scramble up the rest of the way. 

 

Rolling over onto her back, she heaved a breath, blowing away the hair that had fallen into her face. She could feel a mess of leaves and other brush sticking to her back and dreaded the state of her hair. 

 

Bringing her hands up in front of her face, she held them up, watching the sun sparkle through the webbing of her fingers. Everything would dry and her gills would flatten, her webbing shrink down, and her scales shed. It was a tedious process, but one she would endure willingly. 

 

Sitting up, she ran her fingers through her hair, root to ends, until it was smooth and lying passively down her shoulders. She wondered if Jughead could plait her hair, had seen the criss-cross styling on women in passing and longed for the sleek style. 

 

With the warmth in the air, it didn't take as long as she thought it would for the scales on her arms and tail to begin to slough off. She was scraping down her arms and hips soon enough, pale skin taking the place of the blue. It was like shedding a layer of jelly, and she threw handfuls of it back into the water to dissolve the rest of the way. 

 

It was something she couldn't very well describe to others, the way it worked. But there was no swirling energy that ‘poofed’ her tail to legs or vice versa. 

 

Once most of the scales were gone and she was able to separate and wiggle her toes, she bent her knees up, flexing them before using her fingers to pry them apart. They separated easily enough, but it stung, had her gritting her teeth. Fresh, sensitive skin breathing in air and sunlight, it was like pins and needles to be without her tail, a numbing pain that wouldn't fade for several days. 

 

Leaning down to the water, Betty scooped up handfuls, sprinkling droplets over her legs to rub at her skin until it was clear and smooth. 

 

She sat for a little, flexing the muscles in her legs until she was comfortable enough to stand. Pulling herself onto her knees first, she looked down at herself. The curve of her hip and thigh pleasing her as she ran her hand over them. 

 

Betty bit her lip, fingers wandering to the place between her thighs. There were a couple of names to call it, but the one that felt heaviest on her tongue was cunt. She could only imagine the rasp of it from Jughead's mouth, his lips close to her ear, fingers where hers are now. She traced the tip of her finger between the folds, found herself warm and slick. 

 

With a sigh, she clutched at her belly where she ached before struggling to her feet. 

 

It burned — her hips, knees, ankles. The points of articulation feeling the strain of her weight, unused to such a thing. 

 

She lifted one foot forward, taking a step, and then another, until the burn lessened. Then, she realized with startling clarity that she had absolutely no idea how to find Jughead. 

 

Chewing at her lip, she glanced around, tried to remember the direction he had come from. 

 

The wind whipped at her hair, blowing strands across her face until she was turning her back against the breeze. It was almost like a gentle nudge against her shoulder, and she took a step forward to follow the line of the river.

 

Betty walked gingerly, gaze shifting to either side of her just as much as in front. There was little to hide herself from unsuspecting eyes. Each noise of the forest seemed heightened as she walked through it, even the sound of her own feet foreign to her ears. 

 

It wasn't long before the wind was blowing through her hair and she changed direction, turning to where it was guiding her. Through the trees she could see a wooden cottage, covered in viney greens and surrounded by foliage of all kinds. 

 

It looked like a home. 

 

Her chest caught on a breath, the thought to just keep walking crossed her mind for the briefest moment. Walk until she found a road, found a village. Found someone else willing to help her.

 

But then she imagined Jughead returning to the waterfall to find that she had left. It hurt, the feeling that brought. She didn't want that for him. 

 

She continued forward until she heard voices. Stilling, she could make out the sound she associated with Jughead, and another just as baritone, but quieter, like it was farther away. 

 

Curiosity got the better of her, and with determination she crept closer to the cottage and the voices. 

 

Leaning her shoulder into the wooden beams that made up the building, she peered around the corner, stepping between blooms of purple and red that covered the ground. Her toes dug into the dirt as she leaned onto the balls of her feet, hands coming up to hold onto the edge of the house. 

 

Jughead was leaning against a mossy covered stump, a large animal stretched out along the length of his legs, snout in his lap. It had long, shaggy grey hair that she wanted to run her fingers through, much like Jughead was doing. 

 

“Do you think it's been _too_ long?” 

 

He was speaking, and it took her a moment to determine if the large animal was the one speaking back, but the voice sounded tiny, didn't match the beast in his lap. 

 

Then Betty saw something in the air, a pair of translucent green wings. She realized with a start that it was a fae, hovering near him in lazy zig-zag motions. They weren't vastly known for their appearances, preferring the seclusion of their clans far away from most other beings. 

 

She had only seen one other, though the life had left her body, wings plucked from her back. 

 

“Dude, _yes_. You need to get on that. Chase that piece of tail.” 

 

“Ha, ha.” Jughead rolled his eyes, making an obscene gesture with his hand toward the small fae. 

 

She watched in fascination, eyes flickering between the two as she peered closer, taking a step farther and pressing as close to the corner as she could. 

 

“Gotta pick the only thing you can't get _wet_ when on land, huh?” He snickered, twirling a piece of wood, delicately carved, between his hands. “Not enough fish in the sea?” His head knocked back, flying away from Jughead's swatting hand. “No, no, seriously though — isn't this what you've been hoping for? _Someone_?” 

 

Jughead sighed, leaned his head back against the stump, tossed something up in the air between his hands before catching it again. “Yeah…”

 

“So what's the problem, hotshot? Is it her?” 

 

Her stomach dropped uncomfortably, recognizing the sick sense of dread as it filled her up unreasonably fast. 

 

He sat up at that, rigid. “No,” he said rather forcefully, eyebrows knitting together. “She's… everything.” 

 

Perking up at that, she stood straighter, curved her fingers around the corner, chewing at her lip. 

 

“She's more than I could have imagined. I'm already on her hook.” 

 

The fae snorted. “A little role-reversal? You gonna let her tie you up too?” 

 

Betty blinked, the image of him caught in a fisherman's net, tangled, flushed, and pleading for help had her fingers raising to cover her lips, lest she let out the squeak of surprise that bubbled in her lungs. Her cheeks felt hot despite the goosebumps raising along her arms. 

 

“—down the line, maybe.” Jughead dropped his hand to the beast, petting down its head. “I just want her so much it _scares_ me.” 

 

That was all it took for her to step out from behind the edge of the cottage, words blurting from her lips as she stumbled on her feet through the maze of flowers, numbing pain searing up her thighs. 

 

“I'm not _scary_.” 

 

His mouth dropped open, fingers curling into the beast's neck and holding him in place as its ears perked up, lip turning up in a menacing manner. 

 

He was rising to his knees, eyes darting up from her legs and chest, struggling to stay on her face. 

 

“—Betty?” 

 

“Woah, _this_ is her?” The fae batted its wings in a flourish. “She's certainly rocking a nice pair of stems and _great_ boobs—” 

 

She was smiling before she could stop herself at the way Jughead swatted at him, eyebrows knitting together as he looked between them before standing fully and taking a step towards her. 

 

“Sorry.” Betty couldn't help it, head tilting to the side and moving an arm to curl around her chest to cover a modicum of her nakedness. “I didn't exactly have a pair of seashells lying around.”

 

It was an entirely cliche thing, she knew. But the way his jaw ticked up in a smile he was trying to hide was worth it. 

 

“I might have some I could lend you. But the view isn't so bad.”

 

“So… not scary?” she prompted, taking a step forward as the distance melted away, as if there was a rope tugging them towards one another. Inevitable. 

 

“I think you misheard me.” Jughead was close enough to reach out and touch the ends of her hair dangling over her arm. They were dry and frizzy beneath his fingers. “I didn't mean _you_ were scary.” 

 

Blinking, she looked down at her toes. The dark ambiguity of his eyes as they searched her face made her own burn. A little red bug with black spots and tiny arms and legs crawled over the top of her foot, entirely at ease, like she was just another extension of the soft earth she stood on. It tickled, eased the pain just a little. 

 

His fingers left her hair, the strands falling back in place at her elbow, and then came up under her chin, tipping her face back up so she could look at him. Look _up_ at him, she noted; she would always be perpetually under his gaze, whether on land or sea. 

 

It was like when they'd kissed in the river water, except they weren't nose to nose. She figured she might be able to step forward and have his lips right at her forehead. 

 

“Oh,” Betty said quietly, words stopping short in her throat, affected by the deep grey of his gaze. It was like all the heat of a summer storm, intense and striking. A shudder traveled down her spine as his fingers slid down the column of her throat where her gills were just pink scars, fresh under his touch. 

 

His thumb brushed her collarbone, sweeping the length of her hair behind her shoulder. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, drawing her attention down. 

 

“Alright, it's starting to get sappy over here, so that's my cue to leave. I'll, uh, head out for a while.” The fae's wings fluttered, the sparkle falling and fading into the air as he gave them a salute and a wink before darting towards the treeline of Redwoods. 

 

The beast behind Jughead emitted a sound that had her jumping, eyes going wide. But it was sitting calmly, tongue lolling out in a pant as it watched them. 

 

Jughead shook his head, hand coming back to cup her neck and pull her just a little closer, fingers tugging on the arm she had crossed over her chest. 

 

She dropped it with little reluctance and stepped forward into the space of his chest, head curving into his neck as she leaned into him.

 

It was warmth and heartbeats and rushing blood and so, so good. 

 

His arms circled around her, surrounding her with an embrace that felt like home.

 

“I just meant that I feel so drawn to you — after _one_ day. A few minutes. I can't just ignore something like this.” His lips pressed against the crown of her head, light and heavy all at once. “I've been a loose believer of fate, but this — you — have me wavering.”

 

Fingers grabbing at his shirt, cotton wrinkling in her fist, Betty breathed him in. The smell of herbs and spice and air. It was calming. 

 

“I suppose that's a good thing?” 

 

“Very good,” he murmured, the words curling around her as much as his arms. 

 

Her eyes closed, the ache in her legs ebbing and the darkness at the back of her mind swirling just a little less already. 

 

*

 

The bed — _Jughead's bed_ — was like heaven. 

 

The evening had grown late after he ushered her into his cottage, where the chill in the air stopped behind the walls, and it smelled like the spice that clung to his skin. 

 

Hot Dog, she learned the beast's given name, had walked circles around her, garnering her attention and demanding she stroke his fur. It was as soft as she imagined, like cornsilk between her fingers, with just a touch of wave crimping the strands. 

 

Jughead had slipped a t-shirt over her head, as good as any dress, that fell to the middle of her thighs and surrounded her in more of his scent. She selfishly hoped she could keep it. 

 

Though the thought of anything after this, whatever it was, seemed like a faraway dream. One that dangled dangerously by its wisps, a thread barely stringing it along. 

 

Betty wondered if she was losing her mind, spiraling faster into the madness that clawed at her chest and skull. 

 

Or rather, if she simply didn't want to leave Jughead's company. 

 

It was a cozy, comfortable thing. More so than she felt in the coral reefs she called home in the ocean. Companionship, it dawned on her, was more fulfilling than any shiny thing she might collect from the depths of wreckage and plunder. 

 

He'd fed her, rice and roast duck, a sweet sauce that tingled on her tongue, lemonade that made her lips pucker. She wasn't entirely sure that she could go back to fish and kelp — _sushi_ , Jughead called it, his eyebrows drawn up and lips curved into a grin. She wanted to memorize that look on his face, the sound of laughter from his throat. 

 

Nothing else happened that night, her insistence that she wasn't tired laughable from the way she curled into a ball and promptly fell asleep atop the comfortable sofa, belly full and body warm. 

 

She remembered him carrying her to bed, arms strong under her thighs as her head lolled onto his shoulder, blinking up at him through the darkness. She heard a fire crackling, smelt the ash and smoke of wood burning, felt herself melt into the softness he set her upon, arms flying up to catch his wrists as he pulled away to tug him back. 

 

He leaned over her, his breath soft on her face and warm. 

 

“Lie next to me,” she murmured, bending her knees up and turning to her side. 

 

It was either a second or a full minute, she blinked, fluttering in and out of sleep, before the weight shifted on the bed and his back was at her chest. His fingers brushed her hair away, out from where it was trapped under her shoulder. She wished she were more awake to enjoy it fully, but she fell asleep with his name on her lips.

 

She woke to the sun streaming in, bright and glittering in its brilliance. 

 

The first thing she noticed was that her legs were sore, her muscles tight, bones screaming at her for their use, needles still stabbing all the way up to her thighs, almost worse than yesterday. The second was the lack of body at her back. No comforting weight in the bed behind her. 

 

A frown pulled her mouth down, and she reached up to her throat, lips and tongue dry with the air. Sitting up, Betty blinked sleep from her eyes, her hand rubbing down her face tiredly. A yawn broke through, alerting her that despite having slept for what felt like an entire age, she was still tired. She would have happily fallen back to sleep, but the clock was ticking in the back of her mind like always, bringing her closer to insanity with each passing second, reminding her why she was here.

 

The cabin was quiet, with only the soft snore of Hot Dog on the floor beside the bed to break up the silence. 

 

There was a glass of water on the little table beside the bed, and her stomach swooped at the gesture. It was cool, despite the bit of warmth in the air, and, as she pressed it against her cheek, she sighed in content. Drinking a mouthful, the effect was instant. She felt it perk her up a little, and she stared at the glass in wonder, running a finger down the side. It seemed as though it had been altered, cooled with a charm, and maybe even peppered up a bit with something else. Whatever it was made her tongue tingle. 

 

Another drink and she was more alert, thirst quenched. Setting the glass down, she blinked at the fact that the water level stayed the same. 

 

Magic was a curious thing, and she raised a hand in the air. Fingers twitching, the water rose from the glass in a stream, swirling in the air and sparkling with glittering clarity. She hummed, feeling the ebb and flow of the energy between her fingers and the foreign magic that felt like warmth in her veins. 

 

Settling it back in the glass, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and touched her toes to the wooden floorboards, a furrow in her brow. 

 

Standing was like a thousand pinpricks, pain shooting up her legs and spine as she rose to standing. She pushed it to the back of her mind, caged, and carried on to tip-toe around Hot Dog's sleeping form. 

 

Walking towards the door, she reached for the knob just as it was turning — door opening wide and quick and forcing her to yelp as she stumbled back, tripping over her own feet. 

 

"Shit—" 

 

An arm shot out to wrap around her wrist, preventing the floor from swallowing her up. Hauled upright, she slammed into Jughead's chest, falling into him and causing him to lean heavily on the door frame. 

 

"Sorry!" she squeaked out, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt to anchor herself as she struggled to get back solidly on her feet. The mechanics were still a thing she had to think about, much like breathing. 

 

"You okay?" he asked when she slumped against him, face buried in his neck. His arm curled around her waist, bringing her back to standing straight. A solid, warm presence that had her head turning all kinds of fuzzy. She wanted to stay right there. 

 

"Yes — sorry. I was just—" 

 

"—Leaving?" 

 

She exhaled, pulling back to look up at him. "—Looking for you."

 

"Oh." Almost as if surprised, his arm curled tighter, bringing her closer, enough that she could feel the heave of his chest with each breath. "Okay. That's… okay. I just — I went to town to grab you something else to wear, and to buy a few other things." 

 

"Really?" Betty blinked up at him, he seemed sheepish, gaze darting away from her as he rustled the cloth bag in his hand, drawing her attention down. "A dress?" she asked, and, though she was not unhappy with the prospect of continuing to wear Jughead's shirt, the idea of her own clothing did spark a facet of joy. Perhaps she would still wear his shirt to bed.

 

Goosebumps raised along her arms as he nodded, and she leaned back, settling on her heels to take the bag he offered out to her. Taking one pained step back, she winced before peering into the bag. 

 

Betty pulled out a lavender dress, cotton with thin straps and incredibly soft. It was gorgeous and not at all the end of what lay in the bag. There were two other dresses and a couple of other items she could only guess were underthings. 

 

The words wouldn't come when she parted her lips, hugging the bag to her chest, overcome with the sudden gratitude that seemed to well up and cloud her vision. Then it was spilling up and over, sliding down her cheeks in a hot streak.  

 

With a gasp, she brought a hand to her cheek, wetness coating her fingers. It was an odd thing, and she found herself shaking her head. “Where I'm from, the sea carries away our tears…” 

 

Jughead brought a hand up to cup her cheek, tilting her chin up to look at him, his eyes soft, sweeping over her face like a gentle caress. “Not here,” he said softly, thumb brushing away the drop pearling down her nose. “We feel each one as it falls.” 

 

She could feel her lip trembling, the sound in her ears falling away to the beat of her heart. It thumped against the cage of her ribs, and she surged forward, raising to her toes to hook her own hand around the back of his neck. 

 

Their lips met in a clash, the bag dropping from her hand to slip to the floor as she clung to him as if she were in danger of the tide casting her out. His hand at her cheek slid into her hair, grabbing a handful and tugging just enough to have her head tilting back. It forced her into his chest, pressed flush against him, his heat soaking into her skin. 

 

Warmth curled in her belly in response, with a moan swallowed up by the push and pull as they moved, tasting the day on each other's tongues. It was new and familiar all at once, stroking the spark that burned between them. 

 

There was an edge of salt on his lips, and she licked at them greedily, hands tugging him closer and closer until he was towering over her as she dropped back to her heels. 

 

His hand lowered from her hair, drawing a line down the dip in her spine as he cradled her in his arms. They cinched together about her waist, squeezing and eliciting a low-pitched sound from her throat as she smiled into his mouth. 

 

Letting go of his shirt, wrinkled underneath her palms, she smoothed her way up to his shoulders. Her teeth caught on his lower lip, and she tugged on it, with a grumble from his chest making her a little dizzy. 

 

Or was she just forgetting to breathe again? 

 

Pulling away, she sucked in a breath, allowing Jughead to pave a line of kisses up the length of her jaw to the lobe of her ear. She shivered when he nibbled on it, belly erupting in flutters, and she wondered if that's what it felt like to swallow a swarm of butterflies. Hands unwinding from her, they flitted to her hips, bunching up the thin cotton of her shirt between his fingers.

 

"Jughead." She found herself out of breath, sucking her lip between her teeth as he dragged the material of the shirt up her thighs, fingers grazing the skin of her bare hips. 

 

Every part of her was sensitive, unused to the attention on any part of her. But she wanted it, wanted _more_. 

 

"Betty," he echoed, smart mouth of his working down her throat and emptying all thought swirling in her brain. 

 

"I don't know if I'm going to need that dress anytime soon." 

 

He paused, lips hovering over her skin, and she could feel the dart of his tongue as he wet his lower lip. "And why is that?" 

 

There was a hesitancy, a vulnerability in his question. She could tell he was afraid she was going to leave, even though she _asked_ for this, came to him. It made her want to hug him to her chest, to tell him he was worth an eternity. 

 

"Because," she said slyly, hands sinking into his hair and running through the inky strands that felt like water between her fingers. "I want you to take me to bed." 

 

"Oh yeah?" he murmured, relaxing beneath her hands and leaning back in to nuzzle at her neck with recognized fondness. His breath was hot at her collarbone, hands hooking around the backs of her thighs. "All rested up from your twelve hour nap?" 

 

Her face scrunched up at that, and she tugged sharply on his hair between her fingers. "Hey now. Growing legs and then walking on literal pins and needles is a lot of effort." 

 

He pulled away after that, looking down at her with a frown, eyebrows pinched together. "Does it still hurt?" 

 

"A little. Less so when I'm lying down." 

 

Jughead lifted her then, as effortlessly as if they were in water. One arm under her bottom and the other at her back, he hoisted her up and against his chest. 

 

Blinking down at him, she tugged on his hair again, leaning heavily over his chest. His pupils dilated at the action, his lips parting with a little puff of air, and she wanted to do it again and again. Wanted to memorize the way he looked, staring up at her like she was the ocean and he would willingly drown in her. 

 

"What are you waiting for?" She mirrored the smirk she had seen on him before, lip curled coyly. 

 

"Absolutely nothing," he breathed, walking with her in his arms toward the bed against the far wall of the room. 

 

He didn't take his eyes off of her, not even when he had to walk around Hot Dog's curious wagging tail. "Outside," he huffed, nudging the beast with the heel of his foot. 

 

The wolf got up lazily, trotting to the door and using his nose and a paw to pull at the handle. It marvelled her, and she wondered if he was just that intelligent or had been trained to do such a thing. She could almost hear a wry, _have fun_ , bouncing back at them. 

 

"Not a fan of an—" he shook her hands from his hair "—audience?" 

 

Jughead lifted her higher before grunting and then tossing her onto the bed. 

 

Her stomach dropped, excitement bursting beneath her skin in a buzzing, prickling sensation, different from the pain of her legs and distracting enough that she didn't feel it at all anymore. Bouncing against the mattress, she brought herself up to her elbows, shaking hair away from her face. 

 

"We've had enough of that for a while," he reminded her with a pointed look. 

 

"Whoops?" She smiled. "I couldn't exactly cover myself with leaves like Eve somehow managed to." 

 

He shook his head with a grin. "Now," his gaze roamed upwards from her ankles, face turning as serious as stone, "I've got some things I'd like to try. If you're willing." 

 

Without hesitation she replied, "I am." 

 

"Are you sure? We could get this over with pretty quickly and you could be on your way." 

 

Her eyes rolled, and, lifting her ankle, she kicked at his hip, his fingers curling around her foot right as she made contact. "You're literally going to have to throw me out of here to get rid of me." He still seemed skeptical, thumb sweeping over the bone until he caught her pulse and pressed in against it, as if to check if she was real. "Seriously," she wiggled her toes at him, "why would I give up all this luxury?" 

 

His hint of a smile was answer enough, and he pushed her foot away to let it fall back to the mattress. "Stay right there." 

 

"I told you," tone sing-song and wavering on the borderline of the magic that filled her vocal cords, "that I wasn't going anywhere." 

 

Jughead turned away from her, stooping down to grab the bags they dropped at the door. "Good," he said quietly, setting them both on the table and procuring some ingredients from one. 

 

"I'm going to make something for your legs — and one to assist in our other activities as well." 

 

"Ooooo, _activities_. Tell me more about that."

 

He shot her a look as he pulled two Mason jars down from the topmost shelf on the wide bookcase across from the table, multiple shapes and sizes for various purposes, she imagined. 

 

"I know you're not as innocent as you seem." 

 

She bit her lip, lifting one knee up and over her other leg in what she hoped was a favourable pose. He shook his head in her direction, but his eyes were drawn to her legs regardless. "Me? I'm the pinnacle of innocence." 

 

He set the jars down, finger tracing the rows below, selecting a mix of dusty and crystal clear jars, a sachet, and a dark vial, then a book, leather bound with rough-edged pages. Glancing up at her, he brushed the end of his nose with the pad of his thumb and then brought it down to his mouth to lick. He opened the book and used his thumb to flip through the pages. 

 

"Tell that to the girl who wanted to suck my dick after all of sixty seconds." 

 

She snorted at that, then laughed. Looping her fingers over her belly, she played with the fabric there. "Okay, I've _heard_ some things—" 

 

" _Done_ some things too," he added dryly, grabbing the large bottle he had pulled from the bag, and brought it to his mouth to yank on the cork with his teeth. He poured a generous amount in each jar, filling them to the halfway point. "Olive oil," he spoke once the cork was safely secured once more. "I didn't realize I was almost out." 

 

"What's it for?" 

 

"This one," he tapped the lip of one of the jars and then grabbed an older one covered in a layer of dust and uncapped it. He turned his palm up and poured out a handful of dried flower petals, still vibrant orange, "is going to steep in the sun, with these flowers — Calendula — creating a cooling oil." 

 

He poured three handfuls of flowers into the oil before capping the big glass jar, now nearly empty of the petals. He put a metal lid on the top of the concoction and shook it several times, and she could see the petals soaking up the oil and expanding with new life. 

 

She blinked, watched him open the small window above the sink in the kitchen and set it on the ledge outside. "Why do we need that?" 

 

"Patience," he tsk'd with a click of his tongue. 

 

Brows pinching together, she pouted, hiking her leg up higher so the shirt would rise up her thighs even further. He glanced her way appreciatively but turned back to the next jar. 

 

"This one is a love oil." 

 

"Love oil?" she repeated, stilling in her bit of restlessness. 

 

Jughead nodded, pulling a pink stone from the sachet and dropping it into the jar. "Rose quartz," he uncapped another tall dusty jar and pulled something dark from it, skinny, "vanilla bean," and split it with a knife, gathering the blackness inside and flicking it from the blade into a little bowl. He grabbed a handful of dried stems from the last jar, sliding his fingers along the length, dropping the purple buds in next, "french lavender," then he did the same with a dried rose, plucking the faded red petals until there weren't any left. He ground the flowers and vanilla together with another piece of stone, shiny and polished, before scraping it into the jar of oil. He used the vial then, tipping it to watch the drops as they fell into jar, "and lavender essence." 

 

He capped the jar and shook it between his hands, walking around the table and back to the bed. Extending his arm, he held it out to her.

 

Sitting up a little, Betty took the jar from him. The glass was warm between her hands as she rolled it around to look at the petals and oil separating from each other. "So this one is for my legs?" 

 

"It's a two for one." He was pulling two candles from the cabinet below an altar, and she recognized the similar markings from the stump in his garden. "A little massage for your legs and oil imbued with an incantation. Lets you feel things a little more deeply, intensely." 

 

Her eyebrows rose, watching him place the pink candle to one side of the bed and the red to the other. He lit them both with a long stick, then blew on the end to extinguish the flame.

 

Looking between the candles burning on their shelves, she almost startled when his fingers fluttered around her ankle. 

 

"Jar, please." 

 

She sat up a little, holding it out, and he curled his fingers both around the top half and where she was holding onto it, keeping her hand in place. 

 

His eyes fell closed, concentration hardening the lines of his face. He licked his lower lip, words falling from his tongue that had her in a trance. “Flames of love burn bright for me, enchant us with desire. Let us feel the heat, O Goddess, of my body warm and sweet.”

 

The jar between them seemed to grow even warmer for a moment. 

 

"So that's your magic?" 

 

He opened his eyes again, taking the jar from her hands he shrugged one shoulder. "I mean, I can do a _little_ more than that." Pulling her foot up, he set it flat against his chest. "I can do spells for speeding up the growth of plants. To increase luck. For sleep. Healing. " 

 

She lay back against the bed, arms stretched out to either side as he uncapped the jar and dipped his fingers in the oil at the top. 

 

"Intentions are heard by Mother and she grants them, as long as you play by the rules." He ran his fingers along the length of her calf, drawing a line of oil down her leg. 

 

Betty sucked in a breath as he did the same to her other leg, the scent of vanilla and rose and earth making her head swim in delight. "What rules?" 

 

"Devotion," he murmured, fingers dancing along her ankle and sliding deftly up her leg with a slowness that was like torture. 

 

The action had her toes digging into his chest, head knocking back to the mattress. 

 

"Loyalty." Hands slick over her leg, his fingers fluttered over her calf and up to her knee. Light pressure, kneading of muscle. "Sacrifice." 

 

He switched to her other leg, rubbing the oil into her skin with a quiet hum. It was methodical, relaxing, _enticing_ , especially with the way his fingers lingered as they worked up her knee, brushing higher in each stroke. Then he had a knee up on the bed, wedging between her legs as his palms slid upward. It pulled a gasp from her throat, her hands clenching in the sheets. 

 

"Do you feel it?" he breathed, and it was like he was whispering in her ear, words tickling her neck. 

 

Squeezing her eyes shut, she nodded. "Yes."  The warmth was growing, spreading, rising up her spine and licking at the base of her skull like a flickering flame. She was almost panting as his palms flattened over her thighs, smoothing upwards and skimming under her shirt. The tips of his fingers grazed her hips, trailing back down in a drumming pattern down the sides. 

 

There was an almost palpable swirl in the air, and with her eyes closed she could imagine the color of the magic. It was dark red, smokey, like a haze filtering through the air and curling all around her. Her own always felt like an extension of the ocean, glittering shades of blue that changed with light. 

 

His voice prompted her eyes to open, everything dissolving back into reality. "More?" 

 

Betty lifted her arms, hands catching his wrists and pulling on him. "Up here," she urged, skin crawling with sudden desperation. 

 

"Not yet," he chastised, settling between her legs on his stomach and making the butterflies in her stomach flutter back to life. His hands pushed the shirt up and over her hips, nearly to her waist. His nose nudged the juncture of her thigh, his breath hot against her cunt. 

 

 _So close_. 

 

"You got to taste me, now it's my turn." 

 

"That's — that's fair." Betty squirmed, settling into a comfortable position with her legs hooked over his arms. She was nervous, had only dabbled with touching herself the very briefest of times once before. 

 

She might not have a human's typical modesty, but she did feel apprehensive about his face somewhere so unfamiliar. 

 

Jughead smirked against her hip, and she couldn't help but want to commit the picture of him between her legs to memory _forever_. He brought his thumb to her cunt, pad pressing in against the bundle of nerves at the top. 

 

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. It was an odd sensation, one that had her aching for more. And thankfully he obliged, thumb sliding down through the folds of her cunt and gathering the wetness she was inherently aware of before rubbing over that bundle again. "What — what — keep doing that." 

 

"This?" he asked, thumb circling around and around and driving her hips off the bed. "You want my mouth on your clit?" 

 

She didn't have to look at him to imagine the smug look across his face, she could feel it in the way he moved. His breath on her skin made her want to clench her thighs around his neck. The only thing she could actually do was nod, helplessly. "Yes, on my _clit_." 

 

His tongue darted out, licking in place of his thumb. Slick warmth, light pressure. Another, broader stroke of his tongue all the way up and over. 

 

Her hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his hair and clenching her eyes shut in tandem with her fingers twisting and pulling, both wanting to pull him closer and shove him away because it was _so much_. 

 

"Does it normally feel like this?" she groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. 

 

Jughead hummed, the vibration of his lips as he closed them over her clit making her forget what she had even said, with his tongue laving attention over and over until she was rutting up into his face. His fingers dug into the flesh of her bottom, both pulling her up to him and keeping her steady in place.  

 

"I told you," he murmured against her, "it's like turning the dial up." His tongue flickered over her clit, drawing up and around, sucking with a gentleness that pulled a high-pitched whine from her throat. "Or maybe I'm just that good." 

 

"Don't make me choke you." She squeezed her thighs together against the strength of his hands, leaning up on her elbows to glare down at him. Which was a mistake. Because he was looking up at her, most likely had been all the while.

 

The black of his pupils stretched to the rim of his irises, the ring of blue bright and stunning but so very thin. There is a substance within the darkness, a hue matching his aura for all its warmth. It was familiar for reasons she could taste on the very tip of her tongue, just within reach.

 

"I don't think I'd hate that, actually." 

 

Something slammed into her chest at the sound of his voice, so low and husky that it made her blood sing. Her nails sharpened to stiletto points, and she pulled them from his hair to clench into fists at her sides. It was like the sharp point of a knife, twisting into her palms and the cut of her upper teeth sinking into her lip. 

 

He pried her legs apart again, the look in his eyes as feral as she felt, his tongue flattening to lick up her cunt and sending her back into an arch off the bed. He was relentless, sucking and licking at her clit with increasing pressure. 

 

"Fuck," she growled, muscles fraught with tension as she trembled to stay still, to control the urge to rip him apart with her hands and teeth. "I've seen you before," she bucked up against him, breathless, feeling the depths of her mind threatening to overtake her, "in a dream." 

 

He didn't slow, only seemed renewed with vigor at her words. His fingers digging into her skin even harder, sure to leave feathery purple bruises over her pale skin. A physical imprint that would rouse this memory, though it was one she wouldn't soon forget even after the marks faded. 

 

"And it took my tongue in your cunt to realize that? What kind of dreams are you having?" Tone teasing, chin wet with her slick, he kissed her clit with a grin. 

 

She unfurled a fist, crescent moon indents in her palm oozing dark, sticky red. She grabbed a handful of Jughead's hair and _yanked_ , his head snapping back to her whims as she squeezed her thighs around his throat. As much as she wanted to, the strength in her legs wasn't as vast as the power of her tail. Something she was thankful for in this moment, as she refused to give in to the darkness. 

 

"The kind where I get everything I want. And I want you…" 

 

His nostrils flared, the subtle twitch of his lip as he stared up at her with mirth written all over his face. 

 

"—on your back. Below me. I want to _control_ you." Her words were smooth as silk, laced with poison. Their grip on each other testing the limits of restraint, wavering on the border of pleasure and pain. 

 

 _Pain is eternal_ , the only thing in her world grounded in reality. 

 

Jughead stilled between her legs, processing her request — no, her _demand_ — eyes flickering over the changes in her face, the gaunt of her cheeks, the points of her teeth. Until something broke in him, like a dam releasing all the pressure within. 

 

She felt the growl from his chest, reverberating off the walls and echoing inside her head. 

 

"That's really what you want?" 

 

Betty tugged at his scalp again, licking her lower lip where a drop of her blood broke through the skin. "Yes." 

 

His hands left her, though she could still feel the ghost of them sliding and gripping her, moving her to his will. He rose from between her legs to his knees, grabbed the back of his shirt between his shoulder blades and pulled it up and over his head. 

 

She watched with a snarl on her tongue, lean muscle ripe with taut, olive skin. He looked delicious. 

 

His fingers flew to his jeans, popping the button. The trail of hair from his navel disappeared there, a part of him she had already been acquainted with but would not forgo the opportunity to take him in her mouth would she be presented with it again. 

 

He didn't appear to be wearing underthings today, the sharp jut of his pubic bone on full display, and she was tempted, sorely tempted to— 

 

"Are you going to take what you want or _what_ , Betty?" 

 

 _—pounce_. 

 

Her body flickered, she could see it in the dark of his eyes as she got close. The speed with which she normally soared through water allowed her to sweep her legs underneath her, hands pushing at Jughead's chest with swiftness in order to shove him onto his back. She climbed over his lap with all the grace of a jellyfish until she had his shoulders framed in with her thighs. 

 

His chest rose sharply underneath her, and she wondered for a fraction of a second if she knocked the wind from him. The concern withered away once she felt the rise of his hips into the air, bucking against nothing. 

 

She smirked, lifting her palms from his shoulders and leaving behind the smear of her blood. Her tongue darted out to lick at her lip again, the coppery sweetness coloring her lips with the ruby of life. 

 

"Did you like that, Jug—head?" 

 

His hands molded to her hips, pulling at her and forcing her towards his mouth. "Would have liked it better if you sat on my face already." 

 

Betty shook her head on a laugh. "Now who's the bossy one?" 

 

Palms sliding upward underneath her shirt, he spanned the entirety of her ribcage, fingers nearly touching. He squeezed her, nearly sweetly, before rising higher to cup the weight of her tits, rough, calloused palms against smooth skin, thumb and forefinger finding the pebble of her nipple. "Me," he breathed, breath fanning her cunt. 

 

The combination produced a full body shudder, her jaw falling slack as she curled her hands in his hair once more. "Please," she found herself saying, fighting the spiraling heat in her gut — a battle she was all too willing to lose. "I need you." 

 

"I'll devour you, Betts," he said it like a threat, gurgling up his throat, and she could feel it in the way he pinched at her tits, tugging until her vision began to white out. But it was a promise. 

 

She wanted that. Wanted it. Wanted him. 

 

"Do it." Her thighs were already shaking, trembling. 

 

He brought her down to his mouth, a hint of a smirk on his lips, one hand still on her tit and one curled around the back of her thigh. His mouth was hot on her, pulling her back into that dizzy, mind numbing sensation. Her stomach pulling, twisting, turning, rocking her forward against his tongue. 

 

The pressure was different at this angle but impossibly better. Whether it was being able to control the tilt of her hips, the way Jughead was looking up at her while his tongue was buried in her cunt, or how he was still pulling her toward him and tweaking her nipple all the while, she couldn’t say. 

 

"Goddess," she panted, "you're so good at this." 

 

He hummed against her, tongue swirling over her clit in a slow circle. "You _taste_ divine. Like you were made for me." His fingers pulled her harder against his face, as if he couldn't get enough, couldn't get close enough. 

 

Even now, with all of this, he was still commanding her actions. She was moving with his desires, and part of her wondered if he didn't want this first, had somehow put the thought in her brain to begin with.  

 

Her hands tightened in his hair, simply there to hold on. His tongue fucked up into her, nose bumping her clit and sending shockwaves up her spine, up and up, until the hairs on her scalp were tingling. She had to look away from him, head tilting up to the ceiling but unable to focus on anything consequential. 

 

"No," he growled, hand coming down hard against her ass in a _thwack._ "Look at me." 

 

The effect was instant, her mouth drying as she choked on a moan. Her back arched as she struggled to remember to breathe, to remember to keep herself abreast him, to _do_ as he had just commanded. 

 

Her head snapped down, teeth sharp as a line of blood trickled hotly down her chin. "Do that again." 

 

He smirked against her, lips curving over her clit and sucking gently. He responded with a flicker of his tongue, palm rubbing over the spot that still stung on her backside before spanking her again. Delivering another immediately after, smarting her skin with its stinging bite. 

 

She bucked against his mouth, the sharp spike of pleasure that spread in her core bringing her to the edge of her resilience. The sound of his name caught in her throat as she finally felt her release blossom, spreading outward in radiating warmth all the way to her toes.

 

It was magnetizing, the way he drank her in, kept her gaze, worked her through the spasm of her cunt. 

 

When her belly settled back from the rough, choppy waters she’d fallen into, it was like she was floating in the middle of the sea with salt in her ears, senses dulled but mind wide awake. The darkness at the edge of her mind was reaching, still searching for her soul that was nearly within its grasp. Waiting. 

 

Jughead pressed back against the mattress, lips parted with his own panting breath. 

 

She struggled to move, her legs like wobbly Jello, with all the grace of a newborn. Eventually, she managed to raise her leg up and swing herself away, sitting back beside him and then letting herself tumble down to lie flat. 

 

"Shit." She clenched her eyes shut, placing her hands over her cheeks where they felt hot, elbow jutting out to catch in his side. She wanted to curl into herself, because somehow, this had only made things _worse_. 

 

Her orgasm shaved off a fraction of the ache that now threatened to consume her. She could feel it at the forefront of her mind, gnawing at her consciousness more rapidly than before. As if it knew that she was trying to save herself from the madness. 

 

"I hope that's not a review of my performance." He swatted her elbow away, turning on his side and propping his head up with a hand. "Because I would have to dispute it." 

 

Betty shook her head, eyes opening to turn her head to look at him. "I believe I already praised you within the throes of passion," she tutted. "I'm cursing because I need you _inside_ me, _right now_." 

 

His eyebrow rose. "Well, you're certainly throwing yourself at me." 

 

"Juggie," she whined, shortening his name and tugging at the waist of his pants. "My legs won't work. You broke me." 

 

"Well, that's a first." 

 

"Do you do this often? Rescue innocent women from the dark abyss of their minds by fucking them into oblivion instead?" 

 

"I haven't fucked you yet." 

 

"Well, _get to it_ ," she purred, fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his pants to scratch through the hairs leading to his cock. 

 

He turned his cheek to the bed, licking his lower lip and drawing her attention back to his mouth. His hand came up to her face, thumb brushing her cheek just as she lowered her hand to his cock. A soft sigh wafted over her face as he exhaled, hips subtly bucking into her hand. She let her fingers roam his length, not quite wrapping around, just enjoying the feel of him jumping beneath her touch. 

 

"Turn onto your side." He jutted his chin at her, fingers brushing her hair behind her ear. 

 

Pulling her hand back, she shifted onto her side, facing away from him. She could hear the rustle of his jeans as he tugged the zipper down and kicked them from his legs. And then, he was at her back, one arm curled around her belly, hauling her against his chest firmly. His lips were at her ear, other arm slipping underneath her to snake up and lie against her sternum, hand wrapping around her throat in a cuff. 

 

She sucked a breath in, eyelashes fluttering as his knee wedged her legs apart. His hand wandered from her belly to her thigh, tracing up and down the length before finding the space between her legs. He slid through her folds, fingers slipping into her cunt and causing her to whimper. It was evident she was still wet, from the slick sound his hand made. It was almost with shame that it made her so delighted to hear the product of what he did to her. 

 

"I'm going to take you." His words burned hotly against her ear, and she could hear the strain in them. His teeth grazed her earlobe and sent a flood of heat and slick straight to her cunt. She couldn't help but clench around the width of his fingers. "Just. Like. This."

 

He curled his fingers, hooking against the front of her cunt and rubbing until she was squirming against his hand, hips wiggling back against his cock at the curve of her bottom. 

 

"Please," she whispered, hands grabbing the sheets in front of her instead of digging her nails into her palms again. It was easier to mend fabric than skin, after all. "Please," she repeated, each word that fell from her lips more desperate than the one before. 

 

Jughead withdrew his hand, letting his fingers drag down her inner thigh, sticky and wet. He lifted her leg, dragging it up and above his own and holding her there so she was spread widely for him. Her thigh trembled at the movement, toes stretching and curling as she struggled not to beg for him to move faster. 

 

"Good. You're doing so good," he praised, voice like thick, raw honey that she would lap up greedily. 

 

Her hips snapped in the air as she fought the bonds of his hold. The words had what little sanity that was left threatening to completely crumble, air turning to ash in her lungs as his fingers flexed around her throat. 

 

"All for me." The jut of his cock rutted up between her slick thighs with each rock of his hips, closer and closer to her cunt until he was sliding right through her folds. "So wet and desperate. Should I give you what you want now?" 

 

"Yes," she moaned, one of her hands dropping down to push the head of his cock into her cunt as she tilted her hips back. 

 

He slid into her with ease, paved by the wetness that was practically dripping down her thighs for him, his quiet exhale at her shoulder the only indication that he was just as stunned as her at the feel of him inside her. 

 

It was a fullness she had expected, but the sensation of _completeness_ was what had her saying, "Oh." 

 

Then he moved, hand at her throat anchoring her to him as much as her leg as he rocked his hips into her. It was a delicious slide, his cock dragging against the walls of her cunt and making her throb. 

 

"Merlin," Jughead groaned, the first sound of his stoic resolve shattering as she clenched all around him. "Not going to last long with your perfect cunt squeezing my cock like that." 

 

"We can always do it again," she breathed, her hips seeking his in the back and forth. 

 

"Oh, I plan on it," he chuckled into her hair, stretching her leg higher on his as he snapped his hips into hers. "I'll fuck you again, and again. Fill you with my come until you're begging me to stop." 

 

Betty couldn't help but want that and more, one arm slinging back and clutching at his hip and thigh, to touch as much of him as possible, hoping with some degree that she didn't slice him open. She nodded helplessly. "Yes, please. I need it." 

 

"One taste and I'm addicted to you." He licked at her ear, and the hand at her throat felt tighter than before. "You better take advantage of me for all you want me." 

 

"Hmmm." She rolled her head back against him, the jostling making her feel as if she were back at sea. It wasn't unpleasant in any way; in fact, it made her grin. "Hate to break it to you, but your dick is magical. You're mine." 

 

"As much as I appreciate the compliment," which he punctuated with a jaunty thrust of his hips that had her sucking in on a sharp inhale, "I think you're high on _something_." 

 

"On _you_ ," she groaned, licking her dry lips. "Your soul is bleeding out, repairing mine." 

 

He hesitated at that, the slow of his hips making her whine. And she flexed her nails into him, his hiss like that of a snake. 

 

"I'm not _stealing_ it," she reassured. "Keep going. Harder." 

 

The rock of his hips increased, the tempo of their back and forth rising to a crescendo. Until she could hear the obscene, slick sound her cunt was making as she pulled him in, the sound of skin on skin, of their heavy breaths mingling in the air. Until the sweat gathered behind her knees and on her brow. Until that winding feeling in her core began again, chasing her pleasure and finding herself hot on its heels. 

 

And all the while she could feel a stitching in her mind, like the faint prick of needle. It was an ache different from that which had her cunt clenching around Jughead's cock. 

 

"Fuck," he moaned, lips quivering at her temple. "Gonna come, baby. I can't stand it. S'good." 

 

"Do it. Do it," she panted. "Come inside me." 

 

She nearly had tears in her eyes, her chest heaving beneath the strength of his arm. Everything was a little fuzzy and a lot warm. Entirely pleasant in a way she hadn't expected, finding her pleasure in Jughead's. 

 

He thrust into her cunt, hard, lingering deeply and pressing against a place that had any more words dying in her throat. 

 

She had to clench her eyes shut, mouth falling open as his hips stuttered to a halt and she felt the subtle spasm of his cock as she clenched around him, bringing him to his peak within her. 

 

Then, he said her name so softly, with so much feeling, that she was nearly sure she imagined it. But the pain of her heart assured her it was real, the skipped beat and all. 

 

The previous fullness was nothing compared to this, and as much as she wanted to savor it, she still _ached_. Her hips wiggling back against him, desperate. She didn't have the words to ask, couldn't manage to get them out beyond a pained sound rising from her throat. 

 

Jughead pulled out of her, hand covering her cunt that she immediately ground against. He kissed the spot just under her ear before tucking her against his chest as he rolled onto his back. 

 

With her splayed out over his chest, he used his knee inside hers to keep her legs spread apart, his fingers at her cunt dragging through her folds and gathering the combination of his come and her slick before circling her clit. 

 

"Come for me, Betty." 

 

She must have laughed, because the sound echoed in her ears and her chest felt tight after. But he didn't stop, only continued to slip his fingers around her clit as she circled her hands about his wrist and held him to her. Her hips bucked wildly as the dark place in her mind seemed to fade further and further away.

 

Her orgasm thrummed through her at the revelation. It was like a frosty shower of rain, fire so hot it was cold, dousing the flames she had been fighting from the very beginning. Toes curling, she stopped breathing for a moment as the pleasure washed everything away. 

 

Her next breath felt like her first. 

 

Finally, she found a reprieve from the darkness that had been plaguing her all her life. 

 

And his name was Jughead Jones. 

 

*

 

It had been but a sennight since her mind burst forth with color. With feeling. The harsh bite of loneliness and anguish fading into nothingness. It had been her constant companion, though she was not sad to see it go. Each taste and touch felt heightened, as if she had taken a clarifying potion of sorts. She wondered how she would fair against Jughead's desire spell now, wondering if she could stand it without bursting into flame. 

 

A seal had broken open and now she had access to all she was, all she could be. 

 

Because of him. 

 

He was a beacon against her darkness, like light falling on fresh pine, a warm, hazy gold that sparkled with resurrecting beauty. He had pulled her from the recesses of her mind, brought her to a reality in which she didn't rely on pain to feel. Reshaped her existence like a Phoenix rising from the ashes. 

 

She worried she felt too much, too fast. 

 

But she was not alone.

 

She was reminded of that every time he wrapped his arms around her, today in particular. 

 

"I don't know," Jughead murmured, "I don't know what to do with it." 

 

"With what?" 

 

"With all the love I have for you. I don't know where to put it." 

 

"I'll take it," Betty said softly, mouth quirking up as she brushed the hair back off his forehead, fingers lingering against his temple in a slow caress. "I have plenty of room to hold it."

 

After all, she was utterly and completely his. 

 

*

 

Many moons later, Betty had her feet buried in the soil of the garden. It was loose and cool over her feet as she stretched out on her back. The soil beneath her was no doubt weathering the linen of the white dress recently purchased, but she found herself uncaring as she watched Jughead work around her. 

 

“Stop wiggling,” he chastised. 

 

Her eyes opened, crinkling at the edges as she squinted up through the darkness at him. The moon was high and bright in the night's sky behind where he was kneeling beside her.

 

His face was turned down to his grimoire on the altar, finger gliding across the current page as his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. 

 

“So, this is for Mabon?” Betty asked, carding her fingers through the soil at her sides, allowing her pinky to skim the side of one of the many gems outlining her body on the ground. 

 

“Yeah, the Autumn equinox. Time to appreciate both the light and dark aspects of life, and for harvesting that which we planted in the Spring in order to weather the cool winds of Winter.” 

 

Her head tilted, watching him strike a match and then hold the flickering flame to a bundled stick of rosemary, marigold, and saffron. 

 

His eyes always looked so blue when he was practicing magic. Like ocean waves folding in at low tide, foamy and soft, and it was more than enough to remind her of the place she once called home. She had decided now, that home was a feeling; home was where you were loved. And she had found home in the warmth of Jughead's gaze. 

 

The way he looked at her so intensely always gave her goosebumps — just like the ones that erupted along her upper arms and neck when he spoke again. His face tilted towards the sky, eyes tracking the motion of the twinkle in the stars as he waved the burning herbs over her body in a counter-clockwise circle. 

 

“As sun is to moon and midnight is to noon, let there be balance in all that we do. May we know our inner light, and our inner darkness, too.” 

 

The smell of rich sage waved over her nose, the strongest scent, complimented by the others. The ground seemed to hum underneath her, as if agreeing with his words. She nodded her head as well. 

 

“O Mother, I am grateful for all that I have been bestowed, and even for that which I have forgotten. I planted my intentions and now I harvest them. I give my thanks for this bounty of the Earth.” He swung a leg over her, so he was sitting over her hips, fingers tilting her face upward toward the moon. “We are centered by your gratefulness.” 

 

Jughead lit the black and white candle on either side of the altar above her head, then blew on the embers of the stick before dousing it in the bowl of river water. 

 

She blinked up at him, face still turned to the sky and the moon as he pressed his lips to hers. Energy, bright and bold seemed to flow through her, her lips tingling upon his. Her blood burned with a song she had never heard, but it was familiar in all the ways it was not. 

 

The dream of him felt so very far away now, and she had dreamt an awful lot. But here and now, he was better than anything she could ever conjure with her imagination. 

 

“You reap what you sow,” Betty murmured against the smile growing on his lips as he nodded, both finally feeling at peace. 

 

_fin_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't you just love a switch-y bughead? this is the vibe it took when I was writing, so couldn't deny it. dom!jug will come out to play in another fic very soon ♡
> 
> my tumblr: [@lilibug--xx](https://lilibug--xx.tumblr.com)


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